


You Make My World Go Round (Sorry)

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Businessman Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Derek, Rejection, Scott is a Good Friend, Sex, Writer Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8979733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: Derek followed the laughter, unsurprised to find Stiles and Laura at the bar, doing shots.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Derek sighed.  He supposed he ought to be grateful they weren’t doing body shots.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to introduce you to uptight businessman Derek and his seemingly carefree lover, Stiles. The true course of love never did run smooth but there is a happily ever.

Derek followed the laughter, unsurprised to find Stiles and Laura at the bar, doing shots. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Derek sighed. He supposed he ought to be grateful they weren’t doing body shots.

His older sister and lover had become thick as thieves as soon as Derek had introduced them. That had also been unsurprising since Laura had a wild side and Stiles—clumsy, loud and fun—had a way of egging her on.

What had been a surprise was the way Derek’s younger sister, Cora, allowed herself to be pulled into their shenanigans. As if on cue, she arrived at the bar and Stiles shoved a shot into her hand while Laura started chanting at her to throw it back. Cora giggled and complied.

“Do you think they’ve forgotten this is a business function?” Derek’s uncle, Peter asked as he surveyed the scene at the bar. His tone said he was fascinated but his expression was predatory. Peter was always sizing up the score, collecting data and storing it to be used in the future, usually to his advantage and someone else’s disadvantage. It was what made his uncle such a successful businessman.

Derek’s stomach clenched with anxiety. He had lectured Stiles about being on his best behavior since this was the first time he was meeting Peter and Stiles had promised he would be.

“How long have you been seeing the young man, what was his name, Steel?” Peter inquired. Peter had a mind like a steel trap and knew darn well what Stiles’s name was; he just enjoyed making Derek suffer.

“I’ve been with Stiles for about four months,” Derek replied, forcing his tone to be carefree. If his uncle suspected he’d drawn blood, the game would be lost.

“Did he move in already? That was fast work,” Peter commented as he took a sip from the champagne flute, not waiting for Derek’s answer.

“No, he hasn’t moved in with me. We’re taking things slowly,” Derek gritted out, a tight smile plastered to his face. The implication being that Stiles couldn’t wait to put his hooks into Derek for either his money or his looks. Derek didn’t mention he’d given Stiles a set of keys to his apartment. That would be the same as moving in with him in his uncle’s opinion.

Out of all of the people he’d been with through the years, Derek had to say Stiles didn’t care about material things or good looks. Sure, he thought nice dinners and Derek’s hot body were great but he wasn’t shallow. The two shared a love of science fiction, lazy weekends spent in bed, running and a sense of humor. At least Derek had never laughed so much as when he was around Stiles and despite the other man’s sarcastic streak, he wasn’t mean and he didn’t make fun of other people’s weaknesses; instead Stiles found humor in the minutia of every day living—like packaging that changed on a whim making it virtually impossible to locate items in the grocery store, the way one sock always hid in the laundry making it hard to match up pairs without going on a hunt, or the way traffic made you even more late when you were already running behind—things that would normally send Derek’s blood pressure soaring instead generated laughter thanks to Stiles and his commentary.

Stiles also understood loss and grief. On the anniversary of his parents’ death, Stiles had brought Derek coffee and pastries, sat next to him on the couch and occasionally rubbed his back or arm, but had never asked him what was wrong. Hadn’t tried to jolly him out of his bad mood. Hadn’t taken offense when Derek had announced he wanted an early night and shooed Stiles out.

Peter nodded his head thoughtfully as the trio at the bar cackled. “He’s certainly an attractive creature with all of that pale skin and those pretty eyes. A bit too loud, though, for a company man like you.”

Derek tried to remain stoic but this was it. His uncle was about to deliver the coup de grace on his relationship. A relationship Derek had been happy with up until now. Wait, he was still happy with Stiles, wasn’t he? Peter had a way of making Derek doubt his decisions in his private life, perhaps with some reason.

There was Kate, who tried burning down Derek’s apartment building, with Derek inside of it.

Also Jennifer, who tried sabotaging their birth control methods; she hadn’t cared about Derek, only about producing a Hale heir.

Derek had learned by his mistakes and had taken proper measures before he started dating Stiles. Sure, the incident with the restraining order when Stiles had been sixteen was a red flag but the private investigator had assured Derek it was a prank that had gone a little too far and the recipient of the prank had overreacted. After all, Stiles came from a good, upstanding local family. Derek had hoped Stiles’s connection to the county sheriff would’ve made some sort of positive impression on his uncle even though Derek himself could care less about it.

Peter droned on. “I’m not saying he doesn’t have his charms. I’m sure he scores high marks as a lover but he’s not really the kind of person you should tie yourself to in the long run. Do yourself a favor, Derek, and keep your options open. You need someone who is mature and stable.” Peter sipped his champagne, gaze surveying the party.

There it was, just what Derek had expected, but it still hurt. His uncle had only talked to Stiles for maybe five minutes and had decided he wasn’t worthy.

Derek clenched his jaw and inhaled deeply through his nose. A waiter was walking by with a tray full of flutes of champagne and Derek snagged one, downing it in one gulp. The effervescence tickled his sinuses but he still felt cold stone sober.

Peter raised an eyebrow at him but Derek excused himself.

The bar area suddenly held great appeal and it wasn’t because his sisters and Stiles were there. 

-0-

Derek entered his apartment, relieved to finally have made an escape from work. He loved his job but having Peter back was exhausting with the ideas he wanted to execute right now and the explanations he wanted for why something hadn’t been completed even though he’d never left instructions for them to do so.

Striding into the living room, intent on collapsing on the couch, Derek stumbled when his shoe met a lump on the floor. A backpack shaped lump. He caught himself on the wall, kicking the pack with gusto, until it was stowed under the side table. Where it belonged. Too bad the backpack’s owner had trouble with the concept of tidiness.

“Stiles!” Derek bellowed. This was not shaping up to be the peaceful evening he had envisioned.

Stiles made his entrance from the kitchen, socked feet sliding over the hardwood floor until he collided with a chair. “Oh, you’re home! How was your day?” 

“It was fine…until I got home and tripped over your backpack,” Derek announced, arms crossing over his chest.

Stiles had the good grace to blush. “Um, oh, sorry about that. I was in a rush to get to the kitchen. I know how stressed out you’ve been since, well, anyway, I wanted to do something nice for you. Come see!” Stiles’s exuberance was a bit more than Derek could take in his worn out state but it was still nice to be greeted with such enthusiasm.

Following the slim man, Derek’s jaws dropped as he entered the kitchen. Every surface was covered with either a dirty bowl, pan, spoon or just plain old coated with a dirty white substance. 

Fidgeting, wringing his hands, Stiles exclaimed, “It’s not as bad as it looks! I might’ve got carried away with the wheat flour. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll have everything tidied up.”

Covering his eyes with his hands, Derek groaned. He peaked out, hoping for something different, but the mess was still there. “I don’t think fifteen hours is enough time to set things to right in here. What the hell did you do?”

Happiness faded from Stiles’s face. He looked around at the kitchen, frowning. His white teeth began gnawing on his full lower lip. Stiles nervously cleared his throat. “I made you some healthy cookies. They’re made with dark chocolate chips, oatmeal, wheat flour and applesauce along with some other things.” Stiles moved to the top of the stove, using a spatula to pull something up from a baking sheet, which was funny because Derek didn’t have any baking sheets. Stiles held a cookie out to Derek, “Here, try one. Less than 70 calories.”

It was funny—not funny ha-ha but funny ironic—Stiles understood Derek’s compulsion to eat healthy but he didn’t understand his need to keep things orderly as evidence by the state of his kitchen.

Derek glanced at the cookie, which smelled amazing, and then at Stiles’s face, noticing a white smear of flour across one cheek and a smudge of something dark next to his mouth that looked suspiciously like a melted chocolate chip. Derek wanted to be angry, he really did. Faced with a gooey cookie and the hope written across Stiles’s face, Derek found himself caving.

Lunging forward, Derek took a large bite of the cookie in Stiles’s hand, just missing those long fingers with his sharp teeth. Stiles jumped back in surprise but then gave a loud huff of laughter.

Concentrating on the cookie in his mouth, Derek sighed with happiness. The cookie wasn’t as sweet as traditional chocolate recipes, especially not store bought ones, but it was extremely tasty, and apparently healthy. “Very nice.”

Stiles seemed disappointed his cookie had only rated a ‘very nice’ but he held out the last bite for Derek to finish. Derek pulled the rest of the cookie into his mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly, and then he licked Stiles’s fingers.

A sharp intake of breath told Derek he’d found one of Stiles’s erogenous zones. It was a match made in heaven really since Derek loved watching, and tasting, those long slim fingers and Stiles loved when Derek bestowed attention on them.

Once those fingers were clean, Derek’s tongue branched outward and upward, licking the chocolate chip smudge from next to Stiles’s mouth. Derek licked his thumb and wiped the flour from Stiles’s cheek but then turned his attention back to the wide mouth.

Soon Derek had Stiles sighing and leaning into him, a puddle of want in his arms.

It wasn’t easy but Derek made himself step back. Stiles made grabby hands at him, his pupils dilated becomingly, but Derek evaded his grasp. “I’m going to take a quick shower. I expect the kitchen to be cleaned up when I get out.”

Stiles pouted but he nodded his head in agreement.

Derek sailed out the kitchen, pausing with one more comment, “Oh, and Stiles, if you leave the towels strewn around the kitchen instead of hanging up to dry, I’m going to have to show you to the door.”

Expecting some sort of witty comeback, Derek turned when his decree was met with silence. Stiles’s shoulders were rounded and he was staring at the floor as if in defeat.

A tinge of remorse hit Derek; it was sweet of Stiles to want to do something nice for him but making a mess in his kitchen wasn’t the way to go about it.

Maybe he should say something to Stiles? 

Derek’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket and the opportunity was lost. He withdrew, frowning to see Peter’s name flashing at him.

Between Stiles’s antics and his uncle’s work demands, this was turning into a less than peaceful evening.

-0-

Derek glared at the cell phone on the table, willing it to do something. 

Stiles was supposed to have shown up three hours ago and not only hadn’t he shown up but he hadn’t called. The business dinner had been important—Derek had impressed that upon Stiles all week—but his boyfriend had let him down. Just like Peter had said he would last week while berating Derek for his romantic choice in partners yet again.

Sure, the dinner had gone off without a hitch, the other party fascinated that Derek was dating a creative person of the arts and shrugging off Derek’s apologies at his absence. The Yukimuras had attributed Stiles’s nonattendance to artistic temperament, but Stiles couldn’t have predicted that would happen. Where the hell was his lover?

The key turned in the lock and Derek jumped to his feet, turning to confront Stiles. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, chest heaving as he struggled to contain his ire, Derek barked, “Where the hell have you been? You’re were supposed to be here three hours ago!”

Stiles stopped in his tracks, mouth hanging open, and surprise evident on his face. After a moment he snapped his mouth shut, frowning. “Um, Scotty said you knew where I was. I was kind of hoping you’d be able to show up, at least for a little while, but I know how important this merger is to you. How did it go?” Stiles asked tentatively, his fingers playing with the keys in his hands. 

Derek recognized them as the apartment keys he’d given to the other man about a month ago, one for the locked lobby door and one for the apartment, on a Tardis keychain. Both men loved Doctor Who and Stiles had giggled with glee when Derek had presented him with the keychain. 

Derek found himself distracted by those big hands with long fingers, worrying and smoothing over the keychain, wishing they were playing with something else. It took effort but Derek reminded himself he was upset with the other man. Derek really wanted to throw Stiles down across the couch and have angry sex with him but first they needed to discuss this. One of them had to be a responsible adult.

“I just don’t understand, Stiles. You knew how much this meeting meant to me, how much I was counting on you. I know you can be irresponsible but your behavior is really inexcusable,” Derek explained, forcing himself to look at Stiles’s face instead of the fingers that were fondling the keychain.

Hurt flashed across Stiles’s face and he ceased all movement, save for sucking in a deep breath, the keys in his hands finally forgotten. “But Scott said he—”

“No, Stiles, a thoughtful, mature person would’ve called me himself to let me know what was going on. How can this relationship continue to grow if I can’t even trust you to support me when something is important to me?” Derek questioned in a lecturing tone. 

Stiles’s teeth gnawed on his lower lip. “I’m sorry, Derek, you’re right. I know your work is important to you and I should’ve called myself.” 

Stiles’s gaze was glued to the floor, which irritated Derek; an apology should be delivered with eye contact. At least that was the expectation in the business world. His uncle had taught him that. 

“Look at me,” Derek snapped. He felt vindicated when Stiles’s face lifted and he made eye contact immediately. “That work is a multi million dollar merger,” Derek said, exasperated. Sometimes he felt like Stiles didn’t take Derek’s career seriously. Then again, Stiles didn’t seem to take his own career seriously.

A pink flush suffused Stiles’s face. “I know your job is as important to you as mine is to me. I would never purposefully do anything to jeopardize your standing at work,” Stiles replied. His tone was soft and even but he was staring at Derek with wide eyes, like he was crazed.

“You would never do anything to jeopardize my standing and yet you stood me up!” Derek snarled. “What do you know about responsibilities? You work for yourself, you can write or edit any time, and there aren’t millions of dollars riding on what you do. It’s not the same thing at all.”

Inwardly Derek cringed; it was like he was channeling Peter. Peter’s thoughts. Peter’s words. Stiles was creative and funny and charming and so what if he couldn’t always be trusted to show up on time? 

“Stiles, I’m—”

His apology was interrupted by a loud knock on his door. “Now what,” Derek muttered as he brushed by Stiles to open the door. 

His neighbor, Braeden, stood there with a measuring cup in her hand. “I’m sorry to bother you but I was wondering if I could borrow some flour. I just need a cup if you have it.” As if sensing the tension, she looked between Derek and Stiles. “Um, if I’m interrupting something, don’t worry about it, I can ask my other neighbor.”

Derek cleared his throat. “No, you’re not interrupting anything. Right this way.” Derek didn’t like to air his dirty laundry in public and was embarrassed his neighbor had caught him during an argument. After all, in the business world it was all about appearances. Besides, he liked Braeden. She was funny and nice and although she had bad timing tonight, he wanted to help her out. Of course he ordinarily wouldn’t have had flour in the apartment but Stiles had made some cookies for Derek last week and had left behind the ingredients. After making a complete mess of his whole kitchen in the process.

“So, I haven’t seen you jogging lately. What have you been up to?” the pretty dark haired woman asked, her bright smile and twinkling eyes making her interest known.

Derek ignored the subtle come-on. He liked Braeden but he wasn’t interested in her, at least not in that way. Sure, she had a fascinating job as a US Marshall and an equally fascinating scar across her neck and face, but Derek had his hands full with Stiles.

Stiles, who he had left standing in the living room after he had told Braeden she wasn’t interrupting anything. Derek didn’t remember any of their small talk after that realization and he hustled Braeden out as soon as he could.

Of course by that time, the living room was empty. Stiles had departed. Once Derek shut the door after Braeden, he leaned his weight against it, deflating. 

Something shiny on the side table caught Derek’s eyes.

The Tardis keychain with his apartment keys. The ones he’d given to Stiles.

Fuck.

So much for angry sex, or even make-up sex. It looked like Derek had some damage control to do.

-0-

“Hey, Derek, did you want to break for lunch?” Derek’s PA, Erica, asked, standing in front of his desk, twirling a hank of her blond hair with her fingers. “Boyd and Isaac said they were going to go to the deli if you wanted to join them.”

Derek grimaced. “No, I don’t want to join them. I don’t have the time. In fact I don’t want any interruptions. Got it?” His tone brooked no argument and Erica quickly backed out of his office, closing his door, mumbling an apology for bothering him.

It wasn’t Erica’s fault that everything bothered him these days. Ever since…

Derek tried to shut down that line of thought but it was too late. Ever since he and Stiles had parted ways, he’d been like a bear with a thorn in his paw. 

First Stiles had disappeared from Derek’s apartment before he could apologize and then Stiles had maintained radio silence. It seemed as though their relationship really was over.

Someone knocked on his door, which irritated Derek to the point of violence. He’d told Erica he didn’t want any interruptions. Without looking up, Derek snapped, “Jesus, Erica, I said no interruptions!”

“Wow, you’re lucky Erica hasn’t accepted a different position if that’s the way you usually speak to her.”

It was Laura, his older sister. She dropped a bag on his desk. “Ham and cheese on rye. I know you get cranky when you haven’t eaten but this is a bit ridiculous. Why don’t you tell Aunty Laura all about it?”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “One, you’re not my aunt. Two, I’m working on a deadline. Three, the way I speak to my staff is no concern of yours.”

“Since I work in HR, I would say the way you speak to your staff is definitely my concern. Now why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you? The staff have been whispering that you’ve been a complete bear this last week. What gives?” His sister flipped her long hair over her shoulder, pursed her lips and stared Derek down.

“Nothing! Nothing is wrong. I’m just working on this merger and it’s tough to get any work done when I’m constantly being interrupted,” Derek grumbled.

“What’s the matter? Is Stiles withholding his sexual favors from you?” Laura cackled. 

“Stiles and I are no longer together.” There. This was the first time Derek had said the words out loud. 

“Oh no, Derek, what happened?” Laura’s tone oozed sympathy and Derek’s eyes flooded with moisture. 

Looking down at the papers on his desk to hide his watery eyes, Derek’s response was brusque. “It just wasn’t working out. Stiles was flighty, immature and irresponsible.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you talking, Derek. That sounds more like Uncle Peter.” Laura put her hands on his desk, leaning into his space. “Is that what happened? Did Peter give you shit about Stiles? Did he fill your head with lies about how he wasn’t appropriate for a man of your station?”

The tips of Derek’s ears burned, embarrassed and humiliated that his sister had so quickly figured out what had happened. He kept quiet though. It was second nature to hide any weakness.

Undeterred, Laura flicked Derek’s ear to get his attention. “Stiles is the best thing that ever happened to you. He balanced you out. Made you more human. You were generally a more pleasant person to be around. Everyone noticed.” 

“Thanks, Laura. Your pep talk really made me feel better,” Derek snarked with bravado even though his sister’s words were hurtful.

Laura perched a hip on his desk. “That’s not what I meant, Der. When you hooked up with Stiles, you became more accessible and easier to be around. You were a little less focused on Hale Industries, which is a good thing in my book. Sure, business is important but not at the detriment of your family and friends. When you met Stiles, you relaxed, let others see your sense of humor.” Her hand patted his shoulder. “He was good for you. What happened?”

“We had a stupid fight. I guess I let Peter’s comments about Stiles’s unsuitability get to me. I mean he was late for a business dinner with me and I kind of blew up at him.” Derek massaged his temples, elbows on his desk. 

“That doesn’t really sound like Stiles. I know he really cares about you. Did he say what happened?” Laura, the voice of reason, asked.

“I guess I didn’t give him a chance to explain.” Taking a deep breath, Derek stared up at his sister. “I think I maybe made a mistake. I miss him, Laura. I didn’t think I would, but I really do.”

Coming around the desk, Laura bent over and hugged Derek. “You need to bury your pride and talk to him. Let him know how you feel. If you don’t try, you’re just going to be miserable.”

Derek was already miserable so what did he have to lose?

-0-

Derek was nervous. He’d texted Stiles, asking if they could meet, and Stiles had surprised him by agreeing. The younger man was due to arrive any minute now. Although really when it came to Stiles, any minute could be thirty minutes or longer.

Looking around his apartment, Derek made sure everything was ready. He had a magnum of champagne chilling in a bucket filled with ice, flutes at the ready. There was a tray of canapés in the refrigerator; skewered king prawns, Thai fishcakes and mini Yorkshire puddings were ready to be consumed although if things went the way Derek planned, they wouldn’t be eating until much later.

The buzzer sounded and Derek wasted no time pushing the button, remotely unlatching the lobby door. Derek checked his watch; Stiles was exactly on time. When footfalls sounded down the hallway, Derek opened the door before Stiles could knock and ushered the other man inside.

Stiles had made a bit of an effort this evening, his khakis and white oxford shirt wrinkle free. He set his ever-present backpack down, tucking it under the side table unbidden. Dressed smartly, preventing clutter…the younger man was really making an effort this evening.

Straightening up, Stiles kept his eyes downcast. Usually he would be bubbling about his day, or something he read or saw, but he was uncharacteristically quiet.

“So,” Derek said into the awkward silence. It looked like this reconciliation was all up to him although Stiles had shown up which was something. “I wanted to apologize.”

Stiles mumbled, “Okay,” but his face was still averted.

Was Derek supposed to go into detail about what had happened? In his head this meeting had gone much differently, with both parties saying they were sorry before they tumbled into bed for some hot make-up sex.

“I should have asked you why you were late instead of jumping down your throat. I also said some things about your work, which weren’t fair. Can you forgive me, Stiles?” Derek softly asked.

The other man looked up, face drawn, and shrugged listlessly. It wasn’t a yes or a no but Derek couldn’t ignore how melancholy the usually upbeat Stiles seemed and he drew him slowly into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Stiles, for hurting you. Please forgive me.” Derek realized he meant the words. He would do anything to cheer up the other man.

Stiles let himself be hugged but he was passive, his muscles tense. Derek nuzzled the soft hair at Stiles’s temple, reveling in the fresh scent of his shampoo. “I missed you.”

Stiles seemed to burrow more deeply into Derek’s chest. Derek didn’t seem to be making much headway using words, so maybe he could show Stiles how much he meant to him with gestures.

Without warning, Derek dipped Stiles on one leg, surprising a gasp out of him. Stiles laugh was a bit forced, an edge of hysteria to it, but he clutched at Derek’s shoulders, melting into his hold. Derek took this as a sign to proceed and leaned forward, balancing Stiles’s weight easily in his arms, as he licked and nibbled at the expanse of naked skin across Stiles’s throat.

Stiles bared more of his throat, groaning quietly. Derek wanted to get the younger man draped across a flat surface so he could lavish attention on his body without worrying that he might drop him. Straightening up, he swung Stiles off of his feet and cradled him to Derek’s chest as he headed for the bedroom. Stiles opened his mouth and Derek, afraid he was about to be rejected, slotted his mouth over Stiles’s, his tongue dipping into the moist cavern.

Arms tightened around Derek’s neck and he applied himself to kissing the younger man senseless. It was easy to navigate to his bedroom by rote memory, only pausing when he made it to their destination—the platform bed that dominated the middle of the room.

Derek carefully settled Stiles on the navy comforter, leaning back to admire the way the brunet looked splayed over the surface. Derek’s fingers quickly unbuttoned Stiles’s shirt, giving him access to pert nipples he knew from past experience were very sensitive. He had Stiles stripped out of the shirt, fingers next working nimbly on the button fly pants, seeking the hardening flesh hidden beneath the material.

“Wait, I—” Stiles’s own moan interrupted whatever he was going to say as Derek’s teeth latched on to a nipple at the same time his fingers freed Stiles’s cock, massaging the sensitive head. Derek knew he was fighting dirty but all was fair in love and war, and Derek was beginning to suspect this just might be love.

Derek had Stiles writhing on the comforter within minutes; it was a huge ego boost to Derek but then again, the two men had never had trouble communicating between the sheets. Stiles was the most responsive lover Derek had ever known.

Not wanting to waste any time in reconnecting with his lover, Derek tugged his own clothing off, pausing only to nuzzle and suck Stiles, finally succeeding in freeing them both from their cotton encumbrances. 

The lube was under a pillow, right where Derek had stashed it earlier. Next to the condom. He hadn’t had sex with anyone since he’d met Stiles but he didn’t want to pause in the action to explain the condom wasn’t necessary; he wanted to sink into Stiles’s heat and show him with his body just how much Derek appreciated him.

Once he was suited up, Derek worked on making sure Stiles was ready for him. His coated finger massaged the pink, puckered starfish of skin, seeking entrance. Both men moaned when Derek’s finger slid home, working diligently in the tight channel, seeking the bundle of nerves that would make Stiles wild with passion.

Stiles’s face was slack with pleasure but when his eyelids blinked open, there was a question in his eyes Derek didn’t know how to answer. Derek redoubled his efforts by laving the sensitive buds on Stiles’s chest again, first one, then the other, licks turning to bites.

Back arching, cock heavy and purple, Stiles was a welcome sight. Derek couldn’t wait any longer. He rolled Stiles over and before the other man could settle comfortably on his stomach, Derek looped his hands around his waist and pulled him to his knees. 

Maneuvering into position, also on his knees, Derek lined up his cock and sunk it into Stiles, reveling in the shudder snaking down the brunet’s spine. With one hand wrapped around the base of his own cock, guiding his lunges into the other man’s body, and his other hand manipulating tender nipples, Derek increased his pace.

The slimmer man sagged in Derek’s grasp, his weight almost completely held up by Derek. Derek didn’t mind; he needed this connection. “Stiles, I’ve missed you so much,” he panted into the shell of the ear next to his mouth. “Let me show you how much.”

Stiles’s hand, which had been braced on the sides of Derek’s legs for balance and stability, moved between his splayed legs to stroke his own cock. Derek wanted to be the one who brought Stiles off, wanted to see to his pleasure.

Derek’s hands snatched Stiles’s wrists, pulling them away. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ll see that you get there. Just trust me.”

Stiles tugged on his wrists but as usual in the midst of sex, he was uncoordinated and couldn’t manage to free himself. “Please, I don’t want,” Stiles paused as he sucked in a startled breath, Derek nailing his prostate with successive thrusts.

“I know what you want. I’ll take good care of you,” Derek huffed, his hips thrusting without respite. In dawned on Derek that maybe Stiles didn’t want this, didn’t want to have sex. “Stiles, tell me you want this.”

Stiles turned his head, his cheek resting against Derek’s shoulder. Derek felt moisture; it wasn’t unheard of for Stiles to get emotional during sex but it seemed more likely it was sweat and not tears dampening his skin. “Yes,” the other man moaned and Derek took the assent and ran with it, his hips undulating, seeking the perfect rhythm.

“Shhh. Just let go. I’ll catch you.” Derek cajoled. He could barely speak, his body was so consumed with the rock and roll of his plunging hips and holding Stiles’s weight up. He’d finally found the angle he wanted and he worked it with everything he had.

“Ah!” Stiles gasped, his body locking up. Derek felt every delicious shiver, accompanied by delightful whimpers, groans and moans, as Stiles’s orgasm rolled through his body.

The sounds alone were enough to drive Derek crazy and soon his body joined in, hips stuttering, as his cock found release.

Both men collapsed in a sweaty heap.

Once Derek caught his breath, he pulled out of the slack body beneath his. He crossed to the ensuite and made quick work of disposing of the condom but he wasn’t quick enough; by the time he returned to the bed, Stiles was conked out, all sorts of bodily fluids, and other fluids, drying on his skin. Derek gently wiped Stiles’s face, chest and crack with a damp towel.

When his lover shivered, Derek levered him into his arms, pulled back the comforter and deposited him on the sheets. Derek crawled behind Stiles, drawing the covers over them, tucking up close, his chest plastered to Stiles’s back.

Derek didn’t delude himself into thinking everything had been magically fixed but he hoped he had conveyed to Stiles just how sorry he was, and how much the other man meant to him, with deed since he’d failed by word.

Rubbing his face against Stiles’s soft hair, Derek pulled the other man nearer to him, enjoying the closeness.

For the first time in over a week, Derek was content. 

-0-

Derek woke up feeling good. Through his closed eyelids he could tell it was still early because the morning sun wasn’t burning a path into the room despite the drawn blinds like it did most days. He reached out to haul Stiles closer only to find the bed empty. He scowled as he sat up, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. 

The alarm clock showed it was just after 5 a.m. It was way too early for Stiles to be up, especially when Derek had plans for him.

Derek’s hand sought the space next to him and it was cool. Stiles had been up for a while. He strained his ears for noise but he couldn’t hear water running in the bathroom, nor Stiles singing, and the TV in the living room was quiet. Derek was floundering out of the king sized bed, panicked at the thought Stiles had left already. He relaxed when his nose picked up the delicious aroma of coffee.

Derek detoured to the bathroom to take care of the necessities before making his way toward the kitchen.

The vision before Derek stopped him in his tracks. Stiles was standing before the wall of windows, jeans slung low on his hips, shirtless torso displayed to perfection as one arm stretched over his head to balance against the casement so his forehead could brace against his forearm. Stiles was ghostly pale in the reflection of the glass, his eyes closed, seemingly in deep thought. 

Derek remembered laying into Stiles last month when he’d smeared fingerprints, and other body parts, across the pristine glass. It seemed he’d taken it to heart, perhaps uncharacteristically so.

Clearing his throat, Derek softly asked, “I missed you when I woke up. Why don’t you come back to bed?”

Stiles rubbed his forehead on his bent arm before turning around. His shoulders were slumped, his posture defeated. “I’m sorry I woke you up. Let me clean up the coffee maker and I’ll get out of your hair.” Stiles’s tone was subdued.

“I was hoping we could spend some time together today,” Derek said as he crossed the hardwood floor to pull Stiles into his arms. His fingers played along Stiles’s spine, stroking and rubbing, coming to rest above the waistband of the denim. He could tell his lover had lost weight. The proof that their separation had been hard on Stiles, too, should have been a balm to Derek but he found he wanted to spoil Stiles, and take care of him, until he was back to his usual buoyant, sarcastic self instead of this heavy hearted, glum person before him. 

The younger man stiffened in his embrace, pulling back. Stiles’s nipples were red and a bit raw looking. Derek had really worked them over last night. He berated himself not putting some lotion on them last night to sooth the irritation. So much for showing Stiles how much he was cherished. 

Rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand, Stiles sighed. “I can’t. I should get going.”

Stiles slid away, moving to the counter. Derek followed, leaning against the wall, observing as Stiles’s big hands and long fingers competently threw out the coffee grounds and washed the carafe and filter basket.

“Come on, I’ll cancel my meetings and we’ll hang out here,” Derek coaxed. He remembered last month when Stiles had begged him to stay home so they could do just that. It was right after Peter had returned so Derek had declined.

Full lips pursing, Stiles dried his hands on the towel before hanging it to dry on the over-the-cabinet towel holder. Derek could remember lecturing Stiles on leaving damp towels lying around before but he’d never quite gotten the knack, cluttering up any and all living spaces in the apartment. At least until now.

“No.” 

Derek startled. He was so caught up in the clean, organized state of his apartment—something that never happened when Stiles was over—that he’d forgotten he was waiting for an answer to his invitation.

No? Stiles never said no to him. Well, Stiles might have tried saying no to him last night but Derek had talked him around to his point of view. Well, maybe talking wasn’t the right word.

Derek trailed behind as Stiles moved to the dining room table where he grabbed up his shirt from the back of a chair and pulled his arms into the sleeves of the white oxford he’d arrived in last night, buttoning it hastily. The khaki pants must already have been stowed in the backpack.

Derek interrupted Stiles’s movements by holding his biceps; Stiles could move out of his grip if he really wanted to but Derek wanted his attention and words weren’t getting his message across.

“Stiles, don’t you think we need some time together?” His thumbs rubbed up and down over the tensed muscles.

Stiles finally looked up and made eye contact. “I know you don’t think very highly of what I do but I’ve got responsibilities, other people depending on me, and I can’t just take off at the drop off a hat.”

Now Derek knew how it felt to have his own words thrown back in his face. Not the part about looking down on his job—Stiles had only ever been supportive of Derek—but the bit about being responsible. Derek remembered his fight with Stiles, how he’d accused Stiles of being irresponsible.

His uncle had said much the same about Stiles before Derek had.

Eyes narrowing, Derek waited for Stiles to elaborate. Maybe change his mind. Nothing. Stiles met his stare resolutely but he didn’t seem to be gloating nor were there signs of sarcasm. He seemed to mean what he said. He also seemed perplexed that Derek was trying to get him to play hooky if his furrowed brow was any indication.

Derek opened his mouth but he was stumped on what to say. He’d already apologized to Stiles so he didn’t think another apology was going to help.

Taking advantage of Derek’s indecisiveness, Stiles pulled away, again, and was now moving to the door to grab his backpack. “Good bye, Derek.”

Derek might have answered. He wasn’t sure. He was too busy having an epiphany.

Derek stared around the apartment. The place was pristine. He couldn’t even tell Stiles had spent the night. His once lively, loud lover was now subdued. Responsible.

The pit of Derek’s stomach throbbed. Derek had royally fucked up and he wasn’t sure he could make it up to Stiles.

 _Good bye?_ Stiles never used that phrase. It was always _See you later_ or _Please call me_ but nothing ever as final as _Good bye._

Derek thought about approaching Stiles’s father to find out what he could do to make things right with Stiles but he had a healthy respect for the sheriff and his guns. He’d also never met the man, declining any offers Stiles proffered, citing work responsibilities.

That left Stiles’s friends. Derek hadn’t met them either but he did have one phone number in his contacts.

It was too early to place any calls but Derek resigned himself to the inevitable—he needed help and that meant reaching out to Stiles’s best friend, Scott McCall.

-0-

Derek thrummed his fingers of his one hand on the cheap plastic table while his other hand clutched his drink. 

Stiles’s best friend had consented to meet with him but he was pressed for time. Derek concentrated on what he knew from Stiles talking about his friend, trying to pull out what facts he could regarding Scott. 

Scott McCall was the same age as Stiles, had completed his bachelor’s in animal science and was now working on his DVM. Apparently the first two years were classroom, which the young man had completed and Scott was now in clinical practicums. His mother was Melissa McCall, a Registered Nurse at the local hospital. He was in a serious relationship; Derek couldn’t remember the name of the girl or anything about her.

Most importantly, Scott had been Stiles’s best friend since they were toddlers and could possibly give Derek some insight into what was going on with him.

A young man in navy scrubs collapsed in the chair across from Derek, rubbing his uneven jawline. “What do you want, Hale?”

Derek hadn’t thought this was going to be necessarily a pleasant conversation and this confirmed it. Stiles’s friend was a bit hostile.

“I need your help. Please.” Derek didn’t want to play games. He needed to fix things with Stiles and he was dependent on other people to help him. He could suck it up if it meant getting that help.

Scott snorted. “With what? You want tips on how to run Stiles’s self esteem further into the ground?”

Derek frowned. “Scott, please. I want to fix things with Stiles but I don’t know what to do. I know I screwed up. I told him I screwed up. I just need to figure out how to make it better.” Derek nervously twisted the cup in his hand. He wasn’t beyond begging, he just wasn’t convinced it would work on Scott. 

“You know Stiles refused to talk about the break up. He said you weren’t to blame. Stiles has had a lot of disappointments in his life and he always bounces back. But not this time. It took me a while but I think I finally pieced together what happened and quite frankly, I don’t think you’re good enough for him,” Scott’s arms folded and he stared at Derek, his slightly crooked jaw jutting belligerently.

Derek opened his mouth but before he could speak, Scott decreed, “Nope, you’re going to shut up and listen to me. I threw Stiles a surprise birthday party. Naturally I invited you but I never heard back. Apparently you’re some big deal and can’t be bothered with peasants. Or you’re just rude. It doesn’t fucking matter because Stiles was gone on you and I only wanted him to be happy so I was willing to overlook you being such a dick. As long as you treated Stiles right, it didn’t matter.”

Scott paused but it was only to take a breath. “When he came back from your apartment the day of his party—I mentioned it was a surprise, right?—he was subdued. Quiet. Refused to talk about it. You fucking broke up with him on his birthday! Now that’s what I call a surprise!!!” His volume had risen to a disturbing level but Derek could only sit there, dumbfounded.

Heads turned and people stared. For once Derek didn’t care what he looked like. “I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me it was his birthday.” The swoopy feeling that occurred when perched on the top of a rollercoaster flooded Derek but it wasn’t good. Derek remembered getting a text from Scott asking him to attend a party but the idea of meeting Stiles’s friends had been overwhelming so he’d done what he always did when something in his personal life bothered him—he ignored it. 

Scott pressed on although he attempted to modulate his volume, hissing his words. “Did you two ever talk? Or was it all about getting your freak on? Nope, never mind, I don’t want to know.” 

Scott, who from what Stiles had told him was very mild mannered and didn’t have a mean bone in his body, was pointing a finger at Derek. Violently. Then the finger was connecting with Derek’s chest. Over the table. Hard. 

Barely pausing to gulp in air, Scott continued his dressing down. “I do know that Stiles is convinced you only wanted him for one thing and then you got tired of him. Threw him away. Got in a few good shots, too. What was that you said to him? Something like you can write any time, it’s not like it matters. Dude, you couldn’t have picked a more hurtful thing to say to Stiles than that. His dad, and don’t get me wrong because I love the man like a father, is constantly on Stiles about not living up to his potential and you just went and validated that. Have you ever read anything by Stiles? He’s amazing.”

Derek sucked in a gulp of air, feeling winded, and not just from having Scott’s finger poking into his chest. Derek had never taken the time to read Stiles’s work but the other man had such a gift with words, it was no surprise he would excel at writing. “He is amazing.”

“Damn straight. The only reason I agreed to meet you was because you broke Stiles and I want you to fix him. Unfortunately you’re a moron so I don’t see this having a happy ending.” Scott finally seemed to wind down, subsiding in his chair, staring morosely at the table.

“Scott, I’m not proud of how I treated Stiles. It wasn’t fair and I’m trying to get his forgiveness, which frankly I don’t know if I deserve, but he’s not talking to me. He’s there, but he’s not really. It’s like he’s been replaced by some, some…” Derek’s train of thought trailed off, derailed by his inability to find the right word. 

Stiles would have the right word. Stiles would’ve jumped right in and helped Derek out, not let him flounder like an idiot. 

Stiles _was_ amazing. For so many reasons. Derek rued the day he let his uncle climb into his head and mess him up. Not that Derek was blaming Peter; Derek was the one who had listened to him.

Scott piped up. “A pod person. Stiles is like a pod person from one of those cheesy sci-fi movies he loves and it doesn’t matter what anyone says to him, he says he’s fine. But he’s not fine. Not only that—and I can’t believe I’m telling you this—he’s trying to get out of his contract. So he can get a _real_ ,” Scott slashed air quotes around that word, his nose crinkling in distress, “job and I just know Stiles will be miserable working nine to five. Have you met him? He won’t last a week. Ugh.” Scott’s body bowed forehead, his forehead almost touching the table, and swallowed convulsively. Repeatedly. Like his sister’s cat did before coughing up a hairball.

Derek was on his feet, moving to the counter where there fortunately was no wait. What did people who were nauseous like to drink? Chamomile tea. Maybe Derek ought to get Scott something for his stomach, too. A scone or something. He was not having Stiles’s best friend get sick on account of him. That would be a black-mark against his name in Stiles’s book that he would never come back from. Assuming he still had a chance right now as things stood.

The barista quickly filled his order and Derek slid the cup and scone on the table, gingerly, hoping it wouldn’t make Scott toss his cookies.

Scott looked up through messy bangs and tentatively picked up the cup, acknowledging Derek’s gesture with a nod. The other man took a sip, grimacing slightly, but then took a larger swallow of the liquid. Scott then nibbled at the lemon scone and that seemed to settle his stomach as he consumed it in three bites.

“Thanks, dude. I haven’t had anything to eat today and I guess I got a little worked up,” Scott said with sincerity. Derek was beginning to believe that Scott meant everything sincerely. The young vet was just an all around good guy and it wasn’t surprising at all he would be best friends with Stiles who was definitely more sarcastic but nevertheless also a good guy. One of the best.

“Scott, I know you have no reason to trust me but if you have any ideas of how I can get Stiles to talk to me, please, I’m begging you for your help,” Derek pleaded.

Scott stared at Derek with pretty brown eyes and he wondered if all of Stiles’s friends were as ridiculously good looking, and loyal, as the one before him.

After a moment, Scott broke the silence. “Before I help you, I’d like to know why you broke up with Stiles. Can you explain any of that to me or is it too private?”

Derek’s mouth twisted wryly but if this was the price he had to pay for help, he would gladly pay it. Even though it felt like he was exposing his soul. “If I ever get Stiles to talk to me, I’ll explain it in more detail to him, if he’ll even hear me out, but it comes down to my self esteem issues as they pertain to my uncle.”

“The uncle who came back from Europe a month or so ago? Stiles did say something about that.” Scott had tilted his head to the side, inviting Derek to continue. 

“I have always looked up to Peter and sought his approval, even before my parents passed away. Peter made some disparaging comments about Stiles to me and I shouldn’t have listened but I did. Things festered and instead of talking to Stiles, I just let them build.” Derek forced himself to make eye contact with Scott. “I didn’t know about his party, which was my fault as you pointed out, but Stiles and I had plans that night. I thought he was being irresponsible and blowing them off. Scott, I wasn’t actually breaking up with Stiles that night but I said some pretty horrible things and then my neighbor interrupted us. By the time I got rid of Braeden, Stiles was gone and he’d left the keys to my apartment. At the time I thought it was for the best but I quickly figured out Stiles was the best part of me.”

The dark haired man perched his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. He gathered himself, seeming to have come to some sort of decision. Derek held his breath, waiting for Scott’s response.

The dark haired young man put his hands in his lap and nodded. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Stiles is trying to meet a writing deadline, which means he’s not taking care of himself. If a person wanted to make an impression on him, they might stop by with food. Nothing complicated, like maybe a sandwich and chips, and soda. And cookies. Food he can eat while he’s at the keyboard. But that person shouldn’t hang around. They should just drop by, give him the stuff, tell them they’re thinking about him and get the hell out.”

Scott’s cell phone began to trill and he stood up. “I have to take this but just let me say, if you fuck this up, I will make you regret it.” He answered the phone as his legs carried him out of the shop. 

Derek sat back in his chair, slumping. 

The meeting drained him but at least it hadn’t been in vain. He’d gotten what he’d wanted: An idea on how to get through to Stiles.

-0-

Derek held the box tucked beneath his arm as he rapped on the door. The elevator was out of order and he’d had to trudge up the stairs. The building, which seemed quaint from the outside, was actually antiquated. And a fire hazard. Derek was surprised the sheriff allowed his son to live here.

Although did anyone dictate to Stiles how to live? That was one of the man’s many charms, at least in Derek’s book. Maybe he hadn’t clearly understood that last month but he’d finally pulled his head out of his ass.

There was stirring from within but Stiles still hadn’t opened the door. Derek bit his lip as he debated his options. He really wanted to see Stiles but not if knocking again interrupted his work and irritated him.

Derek was just leaning over to set the box outside of the door when it swung open.

Stiles stood in the doorway, bare feet peaking out from beneath loose jeans. He was wearing a white V-neck t-shirt, which also seemed too loose. His silky brown hair was standing askew, a pen tucked behind one ear and another in his mouth. He blinked at Derek slowly, his expressive mouth turning up at the corners, eyes shining with something that looked a lot like hope. The pen flew out of his mouth as he softly asked, “Derek?” as though he didn’t believe his eyes.

Before Derek had a chance to say anything, Stiles’s gaze swept downward and he noticed the box in Derek’s hands and the look of hopefulness bled into a bland, blank expression. The half smile turned into a wry twist of lips. “Oh. You didn’t have to bring my stuff by. I’m sure it’s all junk that you could’ve just thrown out.” 

Derek winced; Stiles thought he was returning his things. He needed to correct that misapprehension right away. “No!” Stiles flinched backward at his overly loud interjection. “I mean, um, no. I heard you’re working on a deadline and I thought you could do with something to eat and drink.”

Stiles’s eyebrows climbed beneath his messy bangs, mouth pinched in disbelief. “Why?”

“I want to talk to you, Stiles. About us.” There was no mistaking the defensive posture as Stiles folded his arms tight across his chest. “I mean I want us to be an us. I know you’re busy and I don’t want to bother you but I do want to talk. To you. About us. Soon. As soon as you want. Whenever.”

Derek was babbling. Stiles was silent. A definite role reversal.

Sighing internally, Derek observed the other man’s mask-like expression and it was disheartening. Derek held on to the hopeful expression he’d glimpsed when Stiles had first opened the door. It had to mean something.

It was time for a tactical retreat. Derek shoved the box into Stiles’s solar plexus, grimacing when the air whooshed out of the other man’s lungs. Thankfully Stiles’s reflexes kicked in and he caught the box.

“I’ll be back tomorrow with another care package. Unless, of course, you tell me not to stop. I’m not stalking you or anything. I just want you to know that I’m thinking about you.” With those parting words, Derek fled toward the stairwell. 

He castigated himself for being a coward but he just couldn’t watch his lover’s once expressive features staring back at him so coldly.

-0-

Derek wished he could cook. He hoped his gesture of trying to meet Stiles’s basic needs was welcomed but he knew it wasn’t quite the same as home cooked food made by his own two hands. It was the thought that counted, right? Maybe? Hopefully?

So far his offerings had included sandwiches, chips, cookies and soda; he used a variety of each for different days. He’d expanded to include breakfast items in the mornings like pancakes, French toast and omelets along with a large carafe of coffee. The sandwich menu was bumped back to lunches to make way for dinner-time selections like stew with cornbread, lasagna and green beans, soup and rolls and, of course, pizza. 

This was the fourth evening Derek was swinging by Stiles’s apartment and although Stiles always opened the door to him, always thanked him for the meal, he also always looked so...stoic. 

Derek knocked, hoping today he would get a different greeting.

The door swung open, Stiles’s dark eyes, brows and hair the only color visible on the otherwise chalky backdrop of his skin. Derek was a fan of Stiles’s pale, creamy skin—it was the perfect canvas for his beauty marks and moles—but he was so washed out even his lips appeared bloodless and gray.

“I have to go,” Stiles blurted out, car keys in hand. He was clad in jeans and a gray long sleeved t-shirt but his sexy feet were still bare and peeping out from beneath frayed cuffs. The scent of Old Spice deodorant permeated the air, a sure indication Stiles was as fresh out of the shower as his damp hair suggested.

Something was wrong. Stiles seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating and his eyes were wide with panic.

Derek could hear a distant voice calling Stiles’s name, also sounding panicked. Gently pushing forward, Derek stepped into the apartment and zeroed in on the cell phone sitting on the coffee table. “What happened?” Derek asked as he set the pizza box down on the coffee table. 

When Stiles only gawked at him, incomprehension in his eyes, Derek picked up the cell phone. “Hello, this is Derek Hale? Who is this please?” His greeting was a little too business formal for the occasion but he didn’t know exactly what situation he had walked into.

“Oh my, God. It’s Scott. Is Stiles okay?” Belatedly, “Derek?”

“I just got here and Stiles seems to be in shock. What happened?” It was difficult maintaining his composure but someone had to remain cool headed.

“The sheriff is at the hospital. It’s bad. I’m on my way to pick up Stiles. I told him what little I know and then he just stopped talking. He quit answering me.” Scott blurted out.

“Beacon Hills Memorial? I’ll bring him and meet you there,” Derek directed.

Scott agreed to the new plan, relief plain in his tone. Derek disconnected and stared at Stiles who was wringing his hands.

“Stiles, honey, you need socks and shoes,” Derek said as he held out Stiles’s phone to him. 

_Honey?_ Derek didn’t think he’d ever called anyone honey before. Not his mom. Not his sisters. Certainly not his girlfriends. Or boyfriends. He wasn’t much into nicknames but it had just slipped out. And if anyone deserved to be called honey, it was the wreck of a man standing before him.

The younger man stared at the phone and didn’t seem to understand what he was supposed to do with it. Derek shrugged and tucked it into his own pocket and moved into the bedroom where he found a pair of socks and the other man’s prized Chuck Taylor All Star Classics that were so well worn the laces didn’t need to be tied or untied. This was important since Derek wasn’t sure Stiles had the wherewithal to do anything except shove his feet into them.

Derek ended up tucking the socks into his pocket right along next to Stiles’s cellphone—he was starting to see the allure of carrying a luggage-sized purse like so many women did these days and he swore to never make fun of his sisters again for it—but at least the younger man allowed himself to be coaxed into his shoes. 

Stowing the pizza in the refrigerator, not because he thought Stiles would eat it later but because he didn’t want it to stink up the place, Derek adjudged them ready to leave.

Curling his arm solicitously around tensed shoulders, Derek grabbed Stiles’s backpack and guided him out of his apartment.

It was heartbreaking and nerve wracking the degree to which Stiles leaned his slighter frame against Derek’s. Derek vowed this time he’d be there for Stiles and wouldn’t let him down.

-0-

If Derek had thought Stiles’s expression had been closed off during their recent meetings this week, he was sadly mistaken. Once they’d gotten to the hospital and Stiles learned his dad was still alive, he’d sunken into a chair, face impassive. The younger man’s expression was so frozen he could give Mount Rushmore a run for its money right now.

Scott looked to Derek, worry furrowing his brow, but Derek could only offer a shrug. He knew how to negotiate complicated contracts and conduct business in diverse cultures but he was at a loss at how to comfort Stiles.

“Maybe you could get Stiles something to drink? Something hot?” Derek suggested. A ripple sometimes shook Stiles’s spine although Derek didn’t delude himself into thinking he was cold. 

Derek curled his arm protectively around Stiles’s shoulders and drew him closer. The loveseat in the private waiting room wasn’t very comfortable but it was a step up from the plastic monstrosities in the main waiting room.

Stiles leaned docilely into Derek’s side. Derek didn’t even know Stiles could be this passive. The younger man was always moving, always talking, always laughing.

Except not so much lately. Derek silently cursed himself for causing Stiles so much anxiety.

Scott returned and tried to hand Stiles what smelled like a hot chocolate but the younger man curled more tightly against Derek’s side and buried his nose in the side of his neck.

“Thanks, Scott,” Derek said, taking the Styrofoam cup from Scott and setting it on the little table next to the loveseat.

Scott sank into the chair on the other side of Stiles, staring at his friend with worry.

The clock ticked audibly and Derek suppressed the impulse to check it constantly. It had probably been approximately thirty minutes of awkward silence before activity in the way of a pretty brunette nurse entering the room occurred.

“Stiles, Dr. Geyer is going to be in a moment to update you but I wanted to let you know they’ll be taking your dad to surgery soon,” the nurse announced, eyes darting toward Scott and back again to the human trying to meld into Derek’s side.

Stiles showed signs of life by pushing away from Derek. “Thanks, Melissa. Can I see him?” The tentative, soft voice didn’t resemble the Stiles Derek had come to know. And love. Stiles also wasn’t peppering the nurse with questions. His insatiable curiosity either was satisfied or in shock.

“Sure, sweetie. Here’s Dr. Geyer now,” the nurse said stepping to the side.

The tall, black man approached, his hand held out. “Stiles, I’m so sorry to see you under these circumstances but we’re doing everything we can to take care of your dad.”

Stiles struggled to his feet and Derek automatically steadied him. Dr. Geyer stared at Derek’s hand on Stiles’s hip but didn’t say anything although he seemed curious. 

The doctor and Stiles shook hands. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Stiles asked meekly.

Dr. Geyer’s big hands settled on Stiles’s shoulders, steadying him. Derek felt a twinge of possessiveness deep in his chest at the way the attractive, professional man touched the younger man. _His_ younger man.

“Two bullets hit his vest, breaking two ribs, but the damage was done by another bullet which somehow missed his vest, entering beneath his armpit. We’ve got him stabilized but we need to go in and clean things up,” the doctor explained. 

When Stiles continued to stare resolutely at the floor, his breathing measured and controlled but overly loud, Dr. Geyer had the audacity to cup Stiles’s chin in one hand and tip it upward, forcing eye contact. “I swear Stiles, we’re doing everything we can for him and he’s a very strong man.”

The rigid line of Stiles’s spine melted and he collapsed into the welcoming arms of the doctor.

Scott grabbed Derek’s forearm, warning him off with a shake of his head. Smart man, Scott; Derek felt the pressure of a growl in his throat and Stiles didn’t need any more drama.

“Come on, Stiles. Melissa will take you to your dad while I scrub up.” Dr. Geyer stepped back, passing Stiles into the nurse’s waiting arms. The three of them left Scott and Derek behind although the nurse raised an eyebrow at the two of them, promising future communication, as she guided Stiles away.

The door hadn’t even swished completely shut when Derek was rounding on Scott. The other man put his hands up defensively. “It’s not what you think!”

“Oh my God, Scott, just tell me,” Derek snarled. 

“Dr. Geyer is the stepfather of one of our good friends, Liam. Stiles and I sort of took Liam under our wings back in high school when he was going through a rough patch and that’s how we know Dr. Geyer.” Derek realized Scott had regained his grip on Derek’s forearm again. “Dude, Dr. Geyer has always been a fan of Stiles but he’s married and he doesn’t roll that way.”

Derek’s metaphorical hackles lowered. “Right. Sorry.”

Scott’s mouth twisted into a shy smile. “Dr. Geyer is a good guy but he sort of comes off as Mr. Bad Touch until you know him.”

His own face reconfigured into a smile. “And the nurse?” She looked familiar and she spoke to and handled Stiles with easy familiarity.

“Oh, sorry! That’s my mom. Melissa McCall. She’s kind of like Stiles’s secondary mother,” he explained.

That explained why she looked familiar. Derek nodded and answered, “She seems competent and kind.”

“Dude, she totally is! She’ll take good care of Stiles,” Scott clarified.

They both resettled on to the furniture. This time the silence wasn’t as awkward.

“Scott, something has kind of been bothering me. I mean I know Stiles is close to his father and that his father being shot is super scary, but his reaction seems a bit…out of character,” Derek tried to put into words what he’d been thinking since he’d found Stiles at his apartment.

Stiles’s friend rubbed the back of his neck and Derek’s lips quirked into a fleeting smile; the gesture was 100% Stiles. Even if he hadn’t known they were best friends, that gesture would’ve confirmed it. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this but yeah, Stiles and his dad had one whopper of a fight last week and haven’t spoken since. Like at all. It’s unheard of and I think Stiles was already freaking out before the shooting.”

“Wait a minute, what do you mean shooting? I mean I don’t know what happened but I figured the sheriff tried to arrest someone and things went south,” Derek queried.

“I don’t have all of the details but it sounds like someone walked into the Sheriff’s Station and opened fire on the sheriff. On purpose.” Scott leaned forward, head in his hands. Derek belatedly remembered Scott saying he thought of the sheriff like a father. 

Derek’s hand found Scott’s shoulder and gave a brief squeeze. “I didn’t know. Stiles hasn’t said a word to me since I showed up at his place and he was trying to leave the apartment without shoes and socks.”

Scott’s bark of laughter had a hysterical edge to it. “Oh, man. I didn’t know he was that bad off but it sounds like you did the perfect thing—you didn’t panic and you got him here straight away. You did good, Derek.”

Warmth spread over Derek’s face and he was pretty sure he as blushing. For some reason the praise from Stiles’s best friend meant more than he thought possible. Why had he put off meeting the people so dear to Stiles before?

-0-

The next two days consisted of Scott and Derek, along with another friend, Lydia, tag-teaming to take care of Stiles who refused to leave the hospital.

Lydia was short, stacked, and smart. Oh, and scary. Definitely scary. She had a way of looking at everyone as though they were bugs under a microscope, Derek included.

Except Stiles. The strawberry blond dynamo by turns bullied and sweet talked him into doing her bidding whether that was taking a shower or eating some soup. She snapped out orders like a natural born leader and steamrolled over anyone who objected. 

Scott had taken Stiles to the staff area for a shower and Lydia was on her cell phone, delegating duties like mad. Derek slipped out to call his uncle, who had left a scathing message telling Derek he had best do a better job of prioritizing and get his ass into the office. Pronto.

Derek had talked to both of his sisters, briefly explaining what was going on and that he’d be out of the office for the foreseeable future. Both, predictably, had wanted to come to the hospital but Derek forestalled them. He somehow didn’t think Stiles would appreciate having more people around, assuming he even realized they were there. His dad was still in critical condition and Stiles was barely hanging on.

Slipping around the corner where there was a secluded spot with decent cell reception, Derek found his uncle’s contact information and hit dial. It went directly into voicemail, which suited Derek fine. “Peter, it’s Derek. I have my priorities straight. I’m where I need to be right now. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you void my contract.”

Terminating the connection Derek slipped his phone into his pocket and turned around, ready to make his way back to the private waiting room they’d coopted, only he found someone standing in his way. A pocket-sized Venus with fire in her eyes named Lydia.

Expecting to be ripped a new one, Derek was shocked when Lydia smiled at him. It was a genuine smile, which lit up her pretty green eyes. Nodding, as if coming to a decision, she murmured, “You’re okay, Derek Hale.”

Turning on her wedged heels, she sashayed to the waiting room.

Both Scott and Lydia seemed to have warmed to him a bit. Now if only he could get Stiles to respond.

Derek was the river, cutting channels through layer after layer of Stiles, the rock, only Derek didn’t have the luxury of two billion years to make his inroads on the Grand Canyon.

Entering the waiting room, Derek saw all of the main players were in place—Dr. Geyer and Melissa were standing, Lydia and Scott were perched on chairs and Stiles was leaning forwarding on the loveseat, his weight braced on his forearms. Derek slid next to him, his hand cupping the bare skin of Stiles’s neck; the other man tensed for a moment before relaxing into the touch. It was a minor victory of sorts but Derek would take it.

“As I was saying, your father is regaining his strength and if he continues at this pace, I think we’ll try taking him off of the respirator tomorrow,” Dr. Geyer concluded.

Melissa had a thousand watt smile matched only by Scott’s. Lydia was grinning, relief apparent in her relaxed shoulders. Stiles gathered himself, sitting up. “Thanks, Dr. Geyer.”

“You can repay that thanks by going home and getting some sleep. Your dad is going to need you—your strength and patience, your good humor and health—in the coming days and you won’t be able to provide what he needs if you’ve run yourself into the ground.” 

Stiles drew himself up, bristling at the doctor’s words and it was the most energy he’d expended since this whole thing started. 

Dr. Geyer shut him down. “I’m not kidding, Stiles. Sitting around and waiting for news is draining but we’re about to start the next phase of recovery which means you’re going to be running around, doing whatever your dad needs you to do, and you need to be in fighting condition. Go. Home.” He gentled his words by stepping forward and giving Stiles’s shoulder a squeeze. “Doctor’s orders.”

Stiles released a pent up breath. “Yeah. All right. But you’ll call me if something happens, right?”

Melissa piped up. “I’m pulling a double and I’ll be checking on your dad every half hour. If there are any changes, I’ll be sure to call you.”

Scott stood up and cleared his throat, “Do you want to stay with me tonight?” When Scott winced, Derek realized Lydia had pinched him on his triceps. Hard. “Or maybe you should stay closer to the hospital?” His question sounded like he wasn’t sure he’d said the right thing and he looked to Lydia for guidance. She inclined her head minutely, showing her approval, and Scott relaxed.

“I live five minutes from here. Stiles, would you like to stay at my place tonight?” Derek didn’t want to put any pressure on the other man but he’d really like the chance to take care of him.

Rubbing his hands through barely dry hair, Stiles effortlessly achieved the bedhead look so many men took half an hour and product to achieve. “Yeah. That would be…yeah. Thanks.”

The doctor and Melissa headed out back to work and Scott and Lydia gathered their things, each giving Stiles a hug on their way out.

Derek gathered up both his bag and Stiles’s backpack. As they left the waiting room, Stiles hesitated. “Do you mind if I look on my dad again before we go?”

“Take your time, Stiles. I’ll wait for you as long as it takes.” Derek assured the other man.

Pretty brown eyes flashed with some emotion as Stiles stared at Derek. He smiled gently before heading toward ICU.

Derek hoped the spring thaw finally had arrived.

-0-

“Can I make you an omelet? Or do you want me to order something in? Just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.” Silence greeted Derek’s question.

Sticking his head out of the kitchen, Derek discovered why his question was going unanswered: Stiles had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room.

The younger man was curled into the corner, limbs lax, head resting on a pillow. His breathing was measured and even, his face and body free of the stress that had held it in its grip for so many days.

Derek debated if he should wake Stiles up and take him to a bed to rest or if he should just let him stay on the couch. Leaving him be won out.

Of course Derek kept finding himself stepping into the living room, unable to leave the younger man alone.

Finally giving in to the urge to be close, Derek gingerly sat on the couch next to Stiles, loath to wake him up but unable to stay away. Stiles shifted on the couch and Derek tensed; he relaxed when Stiles turned over, stretching out, his legs draping over Derek’s lap.

Derek took it as an invitation and gently began kneading Stiles’s muscles through the denim of his jeans. He wished he’d thought to suggest Stiles climb into the track pants Derek had pulled out for him before getting comfortable but it hadn’t occurred to him that Stiles would drop off to sleep so quickly. It should have though; for the first time in days Stiles had received good news.

Itching to touch bare skin, Derek contented himself with trying to ease the tension in Stiles’s long limbs.

“If your hands climb much higher, you’re going to discover a different part of my anatomy,” Stiles commented, voice husky with sleep.

Derek’s hands pulled back with alacrity, guilty. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Stiles wriggled a bit, sitting up, his ass landing in Derek’s lap. As much as Derek wanted more contact, preferably bare skin on bare skin, he found he was content to just wrap his arms around Stiles and hold him close. “I’m glad your dad is doing better.”

A gusty sigh wafted over Derek’s bare neck and he shivered. “Me, too.”

The two men sat like that, Stiles’s arm around Derek’s shoulders, nose nuzzling into  
Derek’s neck with Derek’s arms comfortably resting on Stiles’s slim waist.

Stiles was the first to break the companionable silence. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Derek responded. He wasn’t sure if this was going to be something to do with surface things, like what to eat for dinner, or something deeper.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Stiles’s face was buried away from view but his tone was tentative. 

“I’m not trying to stress you out but I also don’t want to hide this from you. I love you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I want to be with you, take care of you, whatever you need me to do.” The weight that had settled over Derek like a heavy mantle lifted abruptly and Derek felt dizzy with it.

Stiles stiffened in his arms, and not in a good way. The younger man kept his face buried in the side of Derek’s neck but his sigh was filled with long suffering. “Derek, how can you love me? You don’t even like me.”

Derek gathered the rigid body closer. “Oh, Stiles, I really, really do. I just…” Derek gathered his thoughts for a moment. “I just really made some poor decisions and it wasn’t fair of me. I know why it happened, I’m not excusing what I did, but if you want I can tell you about it.”

The body in his arms nodded but remained silent, face tucked away from view.

“So you know my parents died ten years ago. My uncle took me and my sisters in and he sort of became a surrogate parent. He also became my best friend. His opinion of me meant everything. He talked me into getting my degree in business, joining the firm. Hell, he’s the one who picked out this apartment for me. He, uh, said some shitty things about you and I took them to heart when I shouldn’t have,” Derek paused, expecting Stiles to pepper him with questions.

Stiles only nodded against his shoulder. “I figured,” Stiles whispered.

“I wasn’t going to break up with you that night you were late. I was just feeling sorry for myself, frustrated with my uncle for his opinions and mad at myself for caring what he said, and I took it out on you. Stiles, I didn’t mean it. I wish I could take it back but I can’t. I can only try to show you that I love you and want to be with you,” Derek explained, willing Stiles to sit up, argue, something. “I’m so sorry I ruined your birthday.”

The skin of his collarbone felt damp. Shit. Stiles was crying. “I saw your face, you know. You did mean it. I won’t be with someone who thinks I’m a whore,” Derek cringed, thinking of his uncle’s words about Stiles, of his accusations, “or that I’m a useless amusement who can be ignored until convenient, or,” Stiles’s voice hitched before it steadied, “that I’m content to take whatever you dish out and will keep coming back for more. I won’t live that way,” Stiles finished, climbing out of Derek’s lap, his back kept toward Derek.

“Stiles, I wish I could undo every decision I made from the time Peter returned until I pulled my head out of my ass and begged Scott to meet with me so I could figure out what to do so you’d talk to me again.” Stiles’s spine straightened at Derek’s words, but he kept his face averted. “Please, Stiles, tell me what to do. How can I make amends?”

“You can’t, Derek,” Stiles turned around and Derek’s face fell at the evidence of the other man’s misery; face blotchy, eyes puffy and red. “I might forgive you but I just can’t forget.”

Stiles headed to the door, feet stuffed in his shoes and backpack perched on a shoulder, all before Derek even managed to push to his feet. “Stiles, please wait.” Derek didn’t have any magic words left to plead his case but if the other man walked out of the door, Derek felt like he didn’t stand a chance.

Hitching his backpack higher on his shoulder, Stiles stared at him as tears rolled down his face. “I have to go. Please, if you care at all for me, don’t come to the hospital. Let me go.”

The door opened and closed, quietly, as quiet as everything Stiles did these days. 

It was wrong. It was Derek’s fault.

Derek collapsed back on to the couch and let his own tears fall.

He really didn’t want to let Stiles go but if that’s what was best for the other man, Derek would have to find a way to do it.

-0-

Derek’s phone rang and he hesitated before picking it up; it was his uncle’s office line. “Derek, could you please stop by my office? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Heaving an internal sigh, Derek acquiesced, “I’ll be right there.”

It had been three weeks since Derek had seen Stiles. He was trying to abide by the other man’s wishes but it was difficult. He’d kept tabs on the sheriff’s progress through Scott and Lydia but it was exceedingly difficult to keep his distance from Stiles. He’d thrown himself back into his job, trying to distract himself, but it wasn’t really working.

He arrived at Peter’s office and his PA, Ethan, told him to go right in, greeting him with a smile so bright, Derek wanted to reach for his Ray-Ban Aviators.

“You wanted to see me, Peter?” Derek said as he approached Peter’s massive antique desk.

“Please, have a seat. I’d like you to look at these portfolios and tell me if you like anything you see,” Peter said, handing over four folders.

Baffled but knowing better than to display it to his uncle who enjoyed keeping people off-kilter, Derek perused the first one. On the left was a headshot of a pretty blond woman with blue eyes and on the right was her Curriculum Vitae. The next folder contained practically the same information, only instead of a blond it was a redhead with green eyes. The last two folders contained headshots and information on the same kind of blandly beautiful people, only they were males, one blond with hazel eyes and one with jet-black hair and pale, blue eyes.

“What exactly am I looking at?” Derek finally queried.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve recommitted yourself to your job. This is my way of compensating you for it.” Peter explained.

“My compensation? I already have a PA, a damn fine one, I’m not interested,” Derek snapped out.

Peter gave his shark smile, all teeth and totally predatory. “Oh, no, Derek. You misunderstand me. These are the candidates I’ve hand selected for you. They’d all make excellent assets for the company, they’re all single and they’re all very much interested in you,” his uncles explained, tugging the sleeves down on his shirt and fiddling with the cufflinks; it was the only outward appearance of nerves his uncle exhibited but it was telling.

Derek flung the folders on to his uncle’s desk, jumping to his feet. “Not interested.”

“Oh, please. I have eyes in my head, I know how distraught you’ve been at the dissolution of your relationship with that unsuitable boy. Let one of these comely young people take your mind off of him,” Peter pursued.

“Fuck. You. If I hadn’t listened to your opinions on his unsuitability, I’d still be with him. Not that I completely blame you—I’m the one who let you get inside my head with your machinations—but my private life is just that. Private. I don’t need, nor do I want, your input.” Derek moved toward the massive door, pausing to turn so he could make eye contact. “I’m warning you, Peter, leave Stiles alone.”

“Derek, wait. Please.” Despite his better judgment, Derek waited to hear what pearls of wisdom his uncle wanted to impart. “I just…I want you to be happy. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I do. I didn’t think that boy was right for you but if he means that much to you, by all means, take up with him again. I won’t interfere.”

If Derek had heard those words, belittling as they were, when Peter first met Stiles, he would’ve been over the moon.

Instead of venting his spleen and slamming out of the office as he’d first intended, Derek let the hostility run out of him. “I tried. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

He opened the door and was already through it when his uncle’s voice followed him out. “Have I taught you nothing? Use every means at your disposal.”

Derek huffed his impatience as he returned to his office. Stiles wasn’t some contract that could be negotiated. However, that didn’t mean Derek couldn’t woo him. From a distance.

“Erica, could you please come in my office? I need your help,” Derek requested.

Her brown eyes flashed with surprise but she snapped up a legal pad and followed Derek into his office.

Erica was smart and crafty and knew Stiles. Knew him and liked him. His PA could help him with his game plan.

If in the end, Stiles didn’t want anything to do with Derek he would back off. He needed to give it his all first.

-0-

“I heard from Lydia that the hospital staff appreciated the catered meal you arranged for the sheriff’s caregivers. The sheriff was also pleased with the portable DVD player and selections you sent over,” Erica reported, legal pad in hand. “Do you want me to contact the radio station next?”

Derek steepled his hands on his desk. “You don’t think it’s over the top?”

Erica grinned, dimples showing. “A bit but have you met Stiles? You, dedicating a song to him, in public, will let not only him but anyone listening, know how serious you are right now. The question is, which song do you want to use?”

They had come up with some good ones. _Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word_ by Elton John. _Baby Come Back_ by Player. _Hard to Say I’m Sorry_ by Chicago. _Purple Rain_ by Prince. _We Are Young_ by Fun. Even The Ramones had a song in contention.

None of them really said what he wanted to say the way Buckcherry’s _Sorry_ did.

“ _Sorry_ by Buckcherry.” 

Derek barely had the words out of his mouth before Erica honest to God squealed. “That’s perfect! I’ll make sure Scott and Lydia know so they can tune in at Noon. The DJ owes me a favor so this should be a sure bet.”

Derek felt heartened that he had so many people on his side although he’d feel a little better if Stiles would contact him. 

Erica returned to her desk and immediately got on the phone.

His cell phone, sitting on his desk, began to blurt out Katrina and The Waves, _Walking on Sunshine_ —is was the ringtone for Scott. “Hey, Scott. What can I do for you?”

Instead of the bubbly greeting he’d expected, Derek was met by a terse. “Derek, it’s Stiles. I think you need to come to the hospital.”

Derek was already moving toward the door. “What is it, did the sheriff have a set back?”

“No, it’s Stiles. He passed out. He’s not waking up. They took him to the ER.” Scott sounded completely freaked out. Scott didn’t seem prone to freaking out. Now Derek was freaking out.

“I’m on my way,” Derek reassured.

Erica was hanging up, her smile sliding from her face as she read the panic on Derek’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Stiles is in the ER. I’ll let you know when I figure out what’s going on,” he imparted as his feet rushed him toward the lobby. The elevator was taking too long so he pushed through the door, taking the stairs two at a time.

The drive to the hospital was completed in a blur and quite frankly Derek was lucky he didn’t get pulled over for speeding. Slamming his Camaro into park, Derek sprinted for the entrance.

Barely clearing the door, Derek skidded to a stop as he decided his next course of action. Scott hailed him from across the room, “Derek, over here!”

“What’s going on?” Derek demanded, too stressed out to be calm and considerate.

Scott grabbed his arm and escorted him to the door leading to the treatment area; the lady at the desk buzzed them in. He talked as they walked. “He was in with his dad and he got really dizzy. The sheriff pushed the call button but the nurses weren’t quick enough and Stiles passed out. It was a cluster with the sheriff trying to get out of bed and Stiles on the floor…I walked in at the tail end of it as they were loading Stiles onto a gurney.” Scott raked a hand impatiently through his hair. “I don’t know, man. He was really pale and still and they don’t know why it happened.”

A strong female voice interrupted them as they approached a line of glass walled cubicles. “I’m pretty sure Stiles passed out because he hasn’t been sleeping or eating the way he should and he pushed himself too hard. They’re running some tests though to make sure,” Melissa McCall explained. She looked almost as stressed out as her son, which belayed her logical explanation.

“Is he awake?” Derek asked.

“Not yet which is just as well since they just drew some blood and Stiles hates that. Derek, why don’t you go sit with Stiles? Scott needs to update Stiles’s dad before he comes down here himself and I need to do rounds,” Melissa explained.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to upset him,” Derek answered.

Melissa snorted. “That kid needs a good shake up. If he gets upset, he can tell us but first he needs to wake up. Go on,” she practically ordered.

Derek didn’t hesitate, flying into the room. A different nurse was adjusting the lines disappearing into Stiles’s arm and she smiled at Derek. “Go ahead, have a seat. I’ll be in to check on him but if you need something just step out to the desk and let us know.” She was the first person Derek had encountered that didn’t seem frazzled and it soothed his nerves.

Sinking into the chair next to Stiles, Derek studied him. Dark skin around his eyes like a bruised banana. Skin too pale. Lean body that had moved past healthy toward too thin evidenced by protruding collarbones.

Derek ached for the stress evident on Stiles’s body; he’d played a significant role in it even before the sheriff was shot.

Gently Derek took the still hand between his own and chafed the cool, clammy skin. “Oh, God, Stiles, please be okay. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to you.”

“Derek? What happened?” Stiles’s voice was weak, too thready.

“You’re awake! Let me get the nurse,” Derek stuck his head outside of the door and the other nurse was making her way toward him. “He’s awake!”

The blond woman hustled over. “Hi Stiles, my name is Jenny and you’re in the ER. Do you remember what happened?” Derek hovered over Jenny’s shoulder, watching her assess her patient.

“I, uh, was with my dad and I got really dizzy. Everything’s kind of fuzzy. What happened?” Stiles asked, his voice gaining some strength.

“Well we’re running some tests but it looks like you pushed yourself too hard.”

“Are you telling me I…” Stiles voice trailed off, his nose scrunching up adorably.

“Fainted. Yes,” Jenny confirmed.

Stiles squawked, trying to sit up. “I did not faint!”

Jenny pushed him back down. “Passed out. Lost consciousness. Whatever term you like. Now you’re going to lay here and let us top off your fluids while we make sure something else isn’t going on.”

Stiles tried to rub his face but the IV on his right arm pulled him up short. Derek took that hand, massaging it. 

Stiles, channeling a Jack-in-the-box, tried bolting upright again. “My dad!”

Jenny pushed him back down. “He’s fine. Better than you at the moment. Now I want you to relax while I check on your results. Let this handsome young man keep you company.”

Opening his mouth as if to argue, Stiles finally subsided. “Yeah. Okay.’

The nurse left the room and Stiles turned his eyes on Derek. A mixture of confusion and hope were plain to see in his pretty brown eyes. “Why are you here, Derek?”

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want anything to do with me but I panicked when Scott called me. I had to come here and make sure you were okay.” Derek expected to get thrown out and was surprised when Stiles smiled.

“I, uh, am glad you’re here,” the other man said softly.

Scott broke the moment by galloping into the cubicle, his cell phone held out in his hand. “You’re awake! Finally. I was so worried,” then Scott startled, remembering the phone in his hand, “Sorry to interrupt but Stiles, you need to hear this.”

The speakerphone was on and they heard the DJ announce the call sign for the radio station before launching into his spiel. “I have the Noon time dedication ready to kick off the All Request Lunch Hour. This one is from Derek to Stiles—words aren’t enough but I want you to know, I’m sorry.”

The gentle guitar strains plucked out the opening before the singer poured his heart out. Derek was amazed Stiles let him hold his hand and he found himself squeezing it gently at each line that really resonated.

_I'm sorry about all the things I said to you_  
_And I know I can't take it back_  
_I love how you kiss_  
_I love all your sounds_  
_Baby the way you make my world go round_  
_And I just wanted to say, I'm sorry_

Someone sniffed and Derek and Stiles both moved in tandem to stare at Scott who was swaying to the song, tears dripping down his face.

At the conclusion of the song, Stiles cleared his throat. “Scott, buddy, could you please give me and Derek a moment?”

Drying his eyes surreptitiously, Scott backed out of the room, murmuring, “That was so romantic.”

Derek was afraid to look at Stiles. What if he didn’t like the dedication? What if he was really through with Derek?”

“Did you mean it?” Stiles asked.

Attention snapping to the pale face, Derek was encouraged by what he saw; Scott wasn’t the only person who had been affected by the song as evidences by the tears slipping from the corners of Stiles’s eyes.

“Yeah, honey, every word,” Derek answered, his thumb swiping first the outside of one eye and then the other.

Derek found his arms full of Stiles as the other man launched himself upright and into this chest. Sobs clogged Stiles’s chest and Derek’s own eyes misted over.

“Please, Stiles. Can we try again?” Derek begged, cradling the frail body to his. “I can’t promise I won’t make mistakes but I love you. So much.”

Stiles just clung to Derek with one arm, tears and other substances soaking through his shirt to dampen his skin. Messes usually bothered Derek but not this one.

“Well don’t keep us in suspense, are you two on again?” a deep voice interrupted them.

Derek swiveled to find a man with bright blue eyes and graying blond hair in a wheelchair.

“Da-ad,” Stiles whined.

“I presume you’re Derek?” The sheriff rolled into the room, Scott pushing the wheelchair. He held out his hand and Derek took it, shaking firmly. A handshake could you tell you a lot about man; the sheriff was secure with himself, not trying to bruise Derek with a steel grip.

“Derek Hale, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he responded.

Scott mouthed _sorry_ at Derek.

“So Stiles finally found someone who could keep him on his toes. No easy task, that. I can’t wait to get to know you better, Derek,” the sheriff returned.

Stiles tried wiping his face on his t-shirt but Derek batted his hands away, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket and handing it over.

“Dad, please, you’re embarrassing me,” Stiles commented before he blew his nose noisily into the linen.

“Son, that ship sailed when you fainted in my room,” the sheriff volleyed back.

Derek grinned; Stiles seemed to have come by his sarcasm honestly.

“Ugh. Why is everyone so mean to me?” Stiles whined as he flopped back on to the bed.

The color had receded from his cheeks again but it was nice to see signs of life back in those pretty brown eyes. “Hey, you feeling okay?”

A yawn overtook Stiles before he could answer.

“You’ll be pleased to know that Stiles’s blood work came back normal. Now the boy needs some rest so everyone clear out,” Melissa said, standing in the doorway, arms crossed but smiling benevolently.

The sheriff grumbled but once he squeezed Stiles’s ankle and called him kiddo, he agreed it was time to return to his room. Melissa followed as Scott provided the manpower.

Derek reluctantly stood up. “Wait, where are you going?” Stiles sounded panicked.

Quickly bending his knees, Derek returned to a seated position. “If you want me to stay, I will.”

“Yes, please stay. Thank you,” Stiles mumbled as his eyes slid shut.

Derek pushed the tumble of silky hair from Stiles’s forehead. He hadn’t gotten a complete answer to his question but he liked his chances.

-0-

Derek came out of the bathroom, inhaling the delicious cinnamon coffee scent wafting from the kitchen. For someone who loved to sleep in on the weekends, Stiles had developed the habit of slipping out of bed while Derek showered to brew some of the most amazing java Derek had ever tasted.

Throwing on some clothing, Derek followed his nose but stopped short when he saw Stiles standing in front of the wall of glass. 

His lover had one arm stretched over his head, leaning against the casement, his forehead braced on his forearm. His torso was bare and it contrasted perfectly with the low-slung denim resting on his hips.

Derek recognized the pose from before. When Stiles had left him. Said goodbye and walked out of his life.

Despite the current state of their relationship, Derek felt a little kick of alarm in his chest. What if Stiles had decided he wasn’t good enough or was thinking over the nasty things he’d said in the past?

“Stiles?” Derek began tentatively but didn’t know what else to say.

Stiles whirled around, happiness lighting up his face. He rocketed into Derek’s chest without warning.

“Oomph,” exploded from Derek’s mouth before his mouth became busy with Stiles’s, lips mashing and tongues twining. Someone was feeling happy and frisky this morning.

Stiles pulled back just when Derek’s head began reeling from lack of oxygen. Once he’d caught his breath, he smiled at Stiles. “Good morning to you, too.”

Bouncing on his toes, Stiles returned Derek’s smile. “It is a good morning.”

“Um, just how much coffee have you had? You seem like you’re going to vibrate out of your skin,” Derek commented as he moved toward the kitchen, grabbing Stiles’s hand and towing him along.

Stiles gave a nervous laugh. “I haven’t had any. I was waiting for you.”

Why was Stiles nervous? Oh. The family picnic. Both their families and friends, together. 

Derek drew Stiles back into his arms. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Everyone will get along great. Except maybe Peter but that’s his problem. If he’s being a pain I’ll tell him to go.”

“I just…I want this to go well,” Stiles whispered as he buried his face in the side of Derek’s neck. Derek’s body was getting interested what with all this contact with Stiles’s body but he needed to cool it. 

“I want this to go well, too, but I love you. I’ll love you even if you start a food fight with Laura, or spill wine on Peter, or challenge Cora to a hot dog eating contest. Let’s just have fun,” Derek cajoled. He didn’t want to blow off Stiles’s worries but he didn’t like when things made him anxious. It made him want to hide Stiles away from the world and protect him.

Stiles pulled back, gaze searching Derek’s face. Looking for answers. “Do you mean it?”

Derek nodded his head solemnly. “Well I wouldn’t suggest the hot dog eating contest because then you’d be too full for Melissa’s pie but yeah, I mean it.” He tipped Stiles’s face up with fingers under his chin. “Stiles, there isn’t anything you could do that would change how I feel for you. You make my world go round.”

Those big, brown eyes Derek loved so much got a little watery. “Me, too. I love you, too.”

They were on a tight schedule but somehow Derek thought a detour to the bedroom was in order. By word and by deed Derek was committed to proving to Stiles just how much he meant to him.

Stiles had put on some much needed weight but it was still easy for Derek to sweep him off of his feet, cradling him to his chest.

His lover giggled but the giggles stopped when Derek hitched him higher in his arms, squeezing tight. Derek enjoyed the way Stiles’s expression turned from happy to heated.

Yeah, Derek was going to enjoy proving himself to Stiles, over and over again.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> And this completes the Hurt/Comfort Bingo prompt for Rejection. This turned into one of my longer stories but despite that it was very easy to write. Who hasn't failed to live up to expectations, or said hurtful things, or tried to win back someone's favor? I guess it's true that writing about what you know can be a straight forward process, cathartic, and, hopefully, entertaining.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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